Wild Lands

(Days Before)

The morning winds blowed over the forest, the clouds wispy and feathery. Flayr perched, crouched, on a bough, the strong winds whirled his long red hair back. The sun was concealed by the tall trees. Down below was a slough that led out to a reservoir, leading out to the extensive sea. Flayr stood up and pushed himself limply forwards. He held out his arms and slowly revolving forwards, plummeting head first into the water fifty feet below. The water hit his face and the rest of him following. His thick clothing heaving him down.

The slough was cold and murky, filled with mud and stringy weeds. Flayr swam to the surface, the clear air surrounded his face, and relief overwhelmed him. He waded ashore and crawled back up to camp.

“What’ve you done with er’ self?” His father inquired anxiously. “You ruined yer new fur.” Flayr walked over to the fire, ignoring his father, and tossed his coat to the ground. His father picked it up and brushed it off. “Don’t ignore me,” his father warned and roughly grabbed his shoulder.

“Ya’ got this precious gift for your name day,” he said angrily. “You should be thankful for this.” He shoved it into his chest. Flayr grabbed it before it fell and held it tight to him. His father turned away back to the tent. People sat under the tent on several logs eating stew and sharing a laugh. Flayr went back to his tent and dropped down onto his fur blanket. He stripped off his wet garments and dressed in more informal clothing. He tightened his collar tighter and strapped on his boots over his leather pants.

The morning came and went, the afternoon brought hard rain and lightning. Flayr followed the crowd of people heading to the regent pavilion in the middle of camp. To the left of Flayr’s wedge tent where most of the sleeping quarters were. His hair matted, soaked by the rain, and his clothing soaked, yet again.

Inside the pavilion was several rows of tables and on the border of the pavilion were tables of food. The roar of laughter and conversation flooded through the cloth doorway. Flayr clasped a bowl and snatched up a ladle sunk into a large cauldron of green soup, full of spinach, and chicken. He seized a mug of beer and rested on a bench in the front. A large table stood in the front of the pavilion where his father would speak.

“You well, sir?” A voice came from behind. A large, brawny man sat down next to him, the weight of him made the bench sag. He had a long dark red beard and a greying ponytail sticking out of the back of his head.

“I’m doing well,” Flayr answered. “And how may you do?”

“Fare, well met,” the man ferociously ripped the meat from the leg of the chicken. Flayr watched him as he devoured his chicken and slurped up the bowl of soup in a second.

“Well met,” Flayr muttered even though he knew the man couldn’t hear him over his loud noshing. His father came past him and patted him on the back.

“See you have met Draxen,” his father said. “I’ll see that next time you will get a better seat.” Flayr scooped up his last puddle of soup and trekked out of the pavilion into the rain. The lightning struck close, hitting the towering trees, and sending them crashing down.

Flayr hauled himself through the mud and back to his tent. Loud crashing whirled around him and the howling of the wind blocked out all other sounds. Flashes of bright lightning blinded him, Flayr stumbled through the thick forest back to the sleeping quarters. The shrieking rain and loud whipping wind threw his red hair into a disheveled mess. Flayr ran through the dark forest towards the bright fire in front of him.

A loud crack came from behind him, the wind blinding him, he turned around and saw a small figure charge at him. The figure rammed into him sending him flying forwards. A loud crash came from in front of him. Flayr pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards the noise. A massive tree had fallen, he searched through the darkness to find a person lying on the ground, crushed by the tree. Flayr used all his vigor and pushed the tree inch by inch until he could pull the person out.

Sweat ran down his face along with rain. He lifted the person onto his shoulder and ran to camp. The fire burnt bright in the storm. He slid onto his knees and placed the person onto the ground at the forepart of the fire. The person was a woman, a girl, about the age of twelve. She had dirty blond hair matted with blood and tiny little hands. Thick blood soaked her dress and blood covered her mouth. Abruptly she looked up at him and opened her mouth. She spat up blood, like a fountain almost, and gore was coming from her chest. Flayr ripped the front part of her dress revealing a heap of flesh and entrails. Her ribs crushed and intestine untangled about.

Flayr lifted her into his arms. He felt tears burning in his eyes and spittle dripped from his lips. He whispered to her as she spat blood up onto his fine shirt. Another person came running up to his side. They yelled something in his ear but the wind pushed it aside. Flayr yelled back but they said nothing back. He got up off his knees and carried her to the infirmary. The infirmary was warm and bright. He set her down on a bed and sat next to her.

“Gosh, why?” Flayr choked and wiped his mouth. Blood and mud covered his lap and shirt, and splattered on his shoes. He cried out, slammed his fist into the bench he sat on, and beat his foot on the floor leaving a dent.

A nurse came rushing in and tended to the girl. The woman took the girl and wrapped her chest. But it was too late, she had a fatal wound, and died seconds later. The nurse carried her to a small box in the corner of the infirmary. She crossed her arms and closed her eyes. It was done.

Flayr walked out into the rain clutching his stomach. It was all his fault. His mind whirled, the storm, his father, the girl, and the tree. It all happened to quickly. It wasn’t fair. Flayr walked over to his tent and ripped off his ruined clothing. He dropped onto his fur and buried his face in the blanket.

It’s all my fault, my fault, he kept thinking. He banged his head against the ground and gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. You saw her die.

He couldn’t get over the sight of her, the blood and the guts. He held her as she died, there was nothing he could do. His head throbbed and the pain of the guilt ripped through his body. She wasn't even a woman. He pounded his head on the ground and grasped the blanket. His eyes burned and his lungs hurt. Exhaustion and weariness hit him sending into a dark sleep; the anxiety and grief blowing away.